


Boundaries

by masonverger_rising



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Hannison - Freeform, M/M, i take no responsibility, say no to hannison, this was written under duress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonverger_rising/pseuds/masonverger_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smut drabble: some disturbingly worshipful Hannison, heavy on the Ba'al.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tripleCrocodilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripleCrocodilian/gifts).



The bedroom is warm, fire leaping in the grate.

Mason hooks his fingers under the waistband of Doctor Lecter’s trousers, “ _Tch_ ,” his mouth twists into a wry, smug little smile, “ _you’re_  a doctor — I’m  _sure_  you don’t need  _me_  to tell you how it works now, do you?”

 

Lecter pauses where he’s unbuttoning Mason’s shirt, blinks once, twice, “That’s not what I asked,” he says evenly, “we have discussed  _boundaries_  before, Mason. Take this as an object lesson: if you cannot verbalise your desires then they will not be acted upon,” his eyes are heavy-lidded, almost sleepy looking, red sparks glinting in their depths. 

"Oh  _come_  on,” Mason rolls his eyes and leans into Lecter’s space, tugging at his trousers, “where’s the fun in that?”

“ _Mason_ ,” he wraps one hand firmly around Mason’s wrist and the other reaches up to cradle the side of his neck, thumb gentling over his throat.

When Mason swallows his adams apple bobs against the light press of Lecter’s thumb.

Mason stills, his eyes glaze and he licks his upper lip, he twitches, almost shivers at the warning tone in the doctor’s voice, “What do you  _want_  me to say?” his fingers fidget, he could pull out of the grasp easily; Lecter isn’t pinning him, isn’t trying to hurt him or push him around. Yet. The hand on his throat shifts and he tenses.

"I’m not trying to trick you, Mason," Lecter’s voice is as calm as ever, he rests his palm lightly across the nape of Mason’s neck, "and I’m not going to hurt you. All I want you to do is  _ask_. That’s not so hard, is it?”

"What if I  _ask_  you to hurt me?”

"I’m not going to hurt you."

“ _Boundaries_?”

"Yes," Lecter kneads the back of Mason’s neck and Mason’s eyelids flutter, he leans into the touch.

“ _Hm_ ,” after a few long moments Mason straightens, shakes his head to clear it, “fine,” he says, and then with a smirk, “ _fine_ ,” he tugs on Lecter’s trousers again, “I want you to fuck me.”

He lets go of Lecter’s waistband and twists his wrist out of the loose grip on it, “That good enough? Or should I be more  _specific_?”  _talk talk talk_ , Mason thinks,  _that’s_ all _he wants to do is talk the whole thing to death_.

"Fine," Lecter says, a smile curls the corner of his mouth, "and was that  _so_  difficult?” he slides his hands back to the buttons of Mason’s shirt, flicking them open one-by-one.

Mason copies the gesture, but with less care, more speed, “Not difficult,” he pouts and half-shrugs, “I just don’t see the  _point_. We both  _know_  why we’re here.” _  
_

"You make a great many assumptions about what other people know."

"Saves time."

"Doesn’t save  _trouble_ , I would imagine.”

"Keeps life interesting," Mason grins, undoes the last button on Lecter’s shirt and pulls it open all at once, he stops, staring, lips parted, his ears grow hot and there’s a flush spreading across his cheeks " _oh fuck_ ,” his voice sounds strangled all of a sudden.

Before Lecter can say anything Mason is pressed against him, one arm looped behind his back, under his shirt, rubbing his cheek against Lecter’s sternum like a cat.

He can feel him laugh, a low rumble through bone and skin and he smiles and licks across the curve of one pectoral, mouths over Lecter’s chest hair and in the back of his mind he wants to make a smart-arsed comment, something along the lines of  _looks like you’ve got some hidden talents here, Doc_ , but it comes down to a choice between talking and doing and  _for once_  he doesn’t say a word.

Mason lets Lecter peel the rest of his clothes off, closes his eyes and sucks kisses across his chest, pushes his fingertips across his sternum, up to the hollow of his throat and back, again and again. Mason pulls himself flush against Doctor Lecter, the silken glide of skin-on-skin. He can feel Lecter’s cock hard against his hip and he shifts, aligns their bodies, presses their cocks between their bellies, he hums at the contact, shifts slightly and his breath catches.

 So far as Mason can tell, Doctor Lecter is unaffected, his breath is even, the slow, smooth sweep of his hand from the nape of Mason’s neck to the point of his tailbone and back is steady and rhythmic. He feels uneasy, a streak of cold through the warmth and delight of moments before — what’s going on here? What’s he waiting for?

Lecter had  _insisted_  on a discussion. It had been discussed, decided — what’s the point of drawing it out? The back of Mason’s neck prickles under the next sweep of Lecter’s hand. He strokes over Lecter’s chest again, runs his hand down across his belly to circle his cock.  _Come on_ , he wants to say, but how? Mason drops his forehead against Lecter’s collarbone, strokes the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock.

A vague, quiet sort of panic flutters deep in Mason’s belly, his shoulders tense and he blanks, the hand looped around Lecter’s back twitches and then he rakes his nails across smooth skin.

That gets a reaction, Lecter’s breath hisses between his teeth and he grabs both of Mason’s wrists, “ _No_ , Mason,” quiet moments stretch between them and Lecter’s mouth quirks into a rueful not-quite smile, “don’t do that,” his grip on Mason’s wrists tightens but only slightly, “you know you don’t have to hurt me to get what you want — you only have to  _ask_.”

"I  _did_  ask,” Mason hates that he sounds like some whiney, insecure  _kid_ , but it’s true, he yanks his wrists free, “I asked already, and you  _said_  fine — what’re you—”  _waiting for, planning, going to do_ …

"You’re making assumptions — assigning motivations to my actions because you can’t bear to lose control, or at least, what you perceive to be control," Lecter doesn’t try to move any closer, his expression is serious — Mason might even venture to say  _concerned_ , but that’s worthless in the course of things, meaningless.

Mason crosses his arms over his chest and fixes his gaze on a point just over Lecter’s shoulder, “I just don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

Lecter makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, “I wasn’t  _waiting_  for anything. Do you generally avoid foreplay, or are you uncomfortable because of me?”

"I  _don’t_  — I didn’t, that was—” Mason can feel the flush deepening, his lips are almost tingling, he ducks his head, looking downward, stares at Lecter’s hard-on and tries not to giggle.

"This doesn’t have to happen — we can dress, go down stairs and have a glass of wine," Lecter shifts his weight like he’s about to move away.

"Like hell," Mason snaps, "no way — I didn’t say stop," he closes the space between them, pushing their hips together, ducking his face against Lecter’s throat, "don’t fuck around, just fuck me already," he laughs, slides his hand from Lecter’s hip to trace across to the tip of his tailbone, touch light until he flattens his palm across one arse cheek and squeezes.

This time Lecter rests his hands on Mason’s hips and steers him back, leans by him to take a bottle of lubricant out of the bedside drawer while Mason sucks across his throat and rubs against him. He takes Mason’s hand from his hip and fills his palm with lube and—

“ _Jesus_  fucking Christ—” Mason rolls his eyes, “got enough there? Maybe you want to use another bottle or two, just to make sure I can’t feel  _anything_ , huh?”

Lecter’s mouth tightens into a thin line and he makes a displeased sound.

"Oh come on, I didn’t mean  _that.”_

"You were trying to provoke me."

"Well —"

“Were you hoping that you could push me into an act of violence?”

"No …"

“ _Mason_.”

Mason looks at his hand, closes his fingers so that the lube bulges between them. It already feels warm and there is a thick line beginning to trail down his wrist, “I dunno,” he shrugs.

Lecter lets out a slow, deep breath, his fingers trail up Mason’s wrist, collect the lube that’s spilling from his palm.

There’s no point in trying to pick an argument — Mason should have figured that out by now, should have realised that it will only lead in conversational circles, always spiral back to  _what is in his head_  — Lecter is immutable, the unmovable man. He’s stone.

Mason closes his hand around Lecter’s cock, the warm slick of lube spills between his fingers and he hears a soft intake of breath, he moves in long, slow strokes and Lecter’s hand curls at the small of Mason’s back, his hips twitch forward and Mason feels a deep throb of heat in his belly. Maybe Lecter isn’t  _unmovable_  maybe it’s just that Mason has been pushing in the wrong direction.

He ducks his head to pull Lecter’s nipple between his lips as he twists his palm over the head of his cock, Lecter grunts and his hands come up to steady himself, he moves Mason away slightly and his heart lurches —  _this is it_  — Mason’s head is filled with the image of himself bent over, held down, hands hard on the back of his neck, insistent at his hip, on his back … but then Doctor Lecter had put so much stock in calm, in gentleness. Would it be Mason being pressed against the soft sheets, pillows under him and the steady, rhythmic roll of Lecter behind him …

Lecter slides onto the bed, his back propped against the headboard, he catches Mason’s hand as he goes, their fingers slide together with the lube. Mason smiles and kneels up on the bed, gets his leg over and Lecter catches him with one hand splayed between his legs, palm cupped under Mason’s scrotum.

"Oh come  _on_ ,” Mason rests one hand on Lecter’s shoulder for balance, reaching down with the other to stroke him, “what’s the hold up, c’mon.”

"Take it easy, Mason, we aren’t in any hurry," the corner of his mouth twitches in what could be a smile, eyes still half-lidded, sleepy, he trails his fingertips back, slick and nimble and presses one finger into him.

"Maybe I  _am_  in a hurry,” Mason’s voice is whiney and he twitches as Lecter adds another finger, “come on, c’mon, just lemme — just do it already, c’mon,  _please_ , just—”

"You know, Mason," Lecter says calmly, his tone is conversational, his eyes glinting, "I  _am_  a doctor,” he curls his fingers into Mason, smiles when he jerks as though he’s been struck, at the cords that stand out in his throat and the way his mouth falls open, empty of ugly words, “I don’t need you to tell me how this works.”

**Author's Note:**

> tenebrisminflesh is a bad person and should feel bad


End file.
